The Consulting Detective and the Boy
by timetravelingslytherincamelot
Summary: In which John and Sherlock end up babysitting Peter for Tony and Steve.


"I don't even know why I follow you sometimes," John sighed reluctantly, shutting the door of the cab. "Barging into Mycroft's isn't going to fix anything," he scoffed at Sherlock.  
"I don't know why you seem to be upset with me if Mycroft is the one acting like a child," the detective said as he took long, elegant strides towards the mansion's front door.  
"Oh brother, you cease to amaze me," Sherlock said with a chuckle as he reached for a dusty brick.  
John caught the hint of sarcasm in Sherlock's voice which is something he assumed the man could have learned only from him.  
Despite everything he and Sherlock had been through together, the consulting detective still acted like a programmed robot most of the time. He would barely eat or sleep, let alone display signs of a normal human being. If John was being honest with himself, the very question kept him tossing and turning in bed at night.  
As they stepped into the luxurious home, it occurred to John that Sherlock had never taken the initiative of confrontation. The brotherly relationship Sherlock had with Mycroft was a bloody strange one. And although John wasn't as keen on detail as the Holmes brothers were, he knew that some things were better left unnoticed.  
John admired the paintings on the walls as he followed Sherlock. Some of the most exquisite art he'd ever seen hung from crafted gold frames. Real gold, he assumed. He was in awe by the culture that was surrounding him that he failed to realize Sherlock has stopped in front of two immense mahogany doors. He bumped into Sherlock but the detective barely seemed to acknowledge his existence. John was about to apologize when he saw that a man in a well fitted suit stood before them.  
"Let me through," Sherlock demanded coldly.  
"I'm afraid that's not possible sir," the man answered in an American accent.  
"I need to speak with Mycroft," Sherlock said annoyed.  
"I'm afraid Mr. Holmes is occupied with, important matters," the man said.  
"That my brother is in there discussing a possible non-human threat with a bunch of super humans is none of my concern Agent Coulson, I need to speak with him. Urgently," Sherlock smirked threateningly.  
The man didn't move a muscle and kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock. "You don't seem like the type of man that would attack without a purpose, Mr. Holmes," the agent said.  
"And you don't seem like the type of man who would carry around cards of a patriotic man in tights, Agent Coulson, but here we are." Sherlock smiled crookedly and took a step towards the suited man.  
John, who had been quietly standing at Sherlock's side, instinctively held up a hand to his mate's chest and stepped in between the two men.  
"Sherlock, if Mycroft is busy I'm sure we could come back another time." John had barely finished his sentence when a tall blonde male, carrying a boy in his arms, came walking out of the doors.  
"I'm very sorry guys; I don't know what got into him. I'll try to be back soon," he said struggling to hold the boy in his grip.  
"Is everything alright Captain?" Agent Coulson asked concerned.  
"Yes, he just got really hyper and jumpy all of a sudden. Tony and I couldn't find a babysitter. The last nine ran out the door," he paused. "It's tough with us as parents and all." He sighed. "I have to get going; I need someone to watch him. We're going over details and Tony is not good at explaining things. Excuse me," he directed to John and Sherlock.  
John didn't know why, but overwhelming feeling took over him as he eyed the adorable toddler. He felt warm inside and without hesitating he spoke.  
"Wait," he called out. "We could watch him for you if you'd like," he pointed to Sherlock and himself.  
Sherlock glared incredulously at John.  
"Who are you?" the man asked politely.  
"John Watson," he extended a hand in the man's direction.  
"Steve Rogers," he said, shaking John's hand before returning it to the child.  
"This is Sherlock," John spoke for him. "He's Mycroft's brother, he came to see him but he's obviously busy so we're stuck here until you guys are through with your meeting."  
"Ah, okay. I don't want to insist, but do you really think you can handle him?" Steve asked.  
"Of course, it would be a pleasure, wouldn't it Sherlock?" he darted a harsh look Sherlock.  
Sherlock said nothing and forced a tender smile. It was enough to fool Steve Rogers but John could see right through Sherlock. He wasn't comfortable around new people, a child coming into the matters made things interesting. Not that John planned to leave Sherlock alone with Peter; he knew better than to let a sociopath consulting detective watch over a five year old.  
"Thank you so much, I promise we won't be long. Say hi Peter," the boy burrowed his face into Steve's shoulder and hugged his neck tightly.  
"He's only shy until he feels comfortable with you," Steve promised. "Pete you're going to say with Sherlock and John for a bit. Promise daddy you'll be good," Steve murmured sweetly at him.  
Peter whispered something inaudible to his dad.  
"Yes, I promise," he smiled before setting the child down.  
"Thank you much, if he gives you any trouble just bring him back," Steve said shaking John's hand.  
The mahogany doors shut with a steady thud behind him.  
Peter pulled on Agent Coulson's pant leg. The man responded by kneeling down next to the toddler.  
"Daddy said the sky is blue 'cause it's my favorite color!" he explained.  
"Well your daddy is a very smart man," Coulson said. Sherlock let out a grunt that sounded like a mocking chuckle.  
Agent Coulson whispered something to the boy who smiled widely and nodded.  
"Now go with the nice men, your daddies will be finished soon."  
Peter turned to Sherlock and motioned to go up with his tiny hands. John watched quietly with a smug grin on his face and crossed his arms over his chest. He ached with curiosity to see what Sherlock would do.  
Sherlock seemed to be having an internal argument with himself as he picked up the giddy toddler and held him up at arms length. The brilliant consulting detective looked curiously at Peter who gazed back him with bright googly eyes. Peter wiggled playfully in his slender arms.  
"Erm, let's go John," Sherlock said with uncertainty as he walked down the long hallway.  
"Yeah, alright. We'll see you later Agent Coulson," John said before following Sherlock to wherever he has heading.  
"I want to be a plane when I grow up!" Peter shouted with delight as Sherlock made his way to Mycroft's kitchen.

* * *

"Sherlock let me carry him," John blurted.  
"What for?" Sherlock responded dully.  
"What for? Sherlock, you're not even holding him right. You might hurt him." John spat furiously.  
"But he's not mine," he said with no concern.  
"Exactly!" John cried, snatching Peter from his arms. "Where are we even going, Sherlock?"  
"Mycroft's favorite room," Sherlock said hiding a smile.  
They entered a dark room through a small door that seemed to made out of glass. Sherlock flipped a switched and John let out a manly giggle.  
"Of course," he said setting Peter down on a dainty table in the middle of the kitchen.  
"You can look in the fridge to see if there's anything we can feed it. It's hungry" Sherlock said.  
"It?" John rolled his eyes and walked to the fridge.  
"My daddy says I'm a special boy." Peter said enthusiastically.  
Sherlock smirked as if to say, obviously. He was glad that John seemed hypnotized by the contents in the fridge to not notice the face he'd just made.  
"How old are you?" Sherlock asked.  
"I'm this many," Peter held up his entire right hand.  
John had never seen so much food in a fridge before. The most edible thing that you'd find in their flat was raw human fingers. He looked through the contents until he'd stumbled upon something that didn't look like it had come out of a food magazine.  
"How long have you been living with your dads?" Sherlock asked.  
"I dunno!" Peter giggled.  
"Sherlock, does Mycroft have any normal cheese? What does Roquefort even mean?" John kept his eyes fixed on the fridge.  
"How long have you been special?" Sherlock asked emphasizing special.  
"Ahh, here we go. We just need some bread." John said closing the doors of the fridge.  
"I don't have a best friend yet, do you?" Peter asked Sherlock.  
John turned rapidly and held Sherlock's gaze for a second too long. The man was sitting across the table interrogating Peter. Afraid of what Sherlock's answer might be, he walked over and scolded Sherlock for treating Peter like a criminal.  
"Peter how does a ham and cheese sandwich sound? Would you like that?" John asked patronizingly. The boy smiled.  
They sat and watched as Peter as he picked his way through the sandwich. Sherlock watched him like a hawk in flight, trying to spot its prey. John, on the other hand, looked at Peter with hopeful eyes. It had been long since he should have settled down with a nice partner who would care for him and a boy who would call him at night to be read a bedtime story to. That seemed to be less important since he'd moved in with Sherlock Holmes. The man drove him bloody insane at times, but there was something that Sherlock provided for him that nobody else could. It was a feeling that confused John. It would build up when he caught himself studying every crevice of Sherlock's face during a case; or as Sherlock's elegant fingers worked thoroughly on his microscope. John didn't know what it was that intrigued him so much. Perhaps it was the idea that he could live a life full of adventures. Perhaps, it was something else entirely.  
"So you want to be an airplane?" John asked the boy.  
"Yes! May I have another one please?" Peter asked looking shyly down at his empty plate.  
"Of course," John said fixing him up another sandwich.  
"John?" Sherlock asked keeping his eyes on Peter.  
"Hmm?" John let out a half grunt.  
"Why does it eat so much?" Sherlock sounded genuinely curious.  
"HE is hungry," John said unbelievably. "I thought you'd deduced that yourself."  
After Peter had gone through two ham and cheese sandwiches and a small glass of milk he asked John if they could play a game. John gladly agreed and played airplane with him. Peter spread his arms and made tiny airplane noises. John laughed delighted as he swayed him up, down, and around. Sherlock watched quietly from the corner of kitchen. While John and Peter were busy playing what Sherlock considered childish games, he examined Peter from afar to best of his abilities. He seemed so mesmerized the hidden quality that Peter possessed.  
"Here, you try," John said when he realized Sherlock was watching them.  
Sherlock scowled disgustingly at John.  
"No," he said coldly.  
"I wasn't asking," John said smiling.  
Sherlock gave in, deciding that if he held Peter again he could get a closer look. He held his arms up robotically and John set Peter in his hands.  
"Put your hands on his torso," John said reaching behind Sherlock who was clearly uncomfortable. "Now hold his up his legs like this, and for god's sake don't drop him!" John retreated his arms quickly when he realized it seemed like he was hugging Sherlock from behind.  
Sherlock stood frozen and turned to John for directions. Clueless genius, John thought.  
"Sway him up and down," he guided.  
Sherlock followed his instructions.  
"More like a plane and not a robot," John encouraged clearly trying not to laugh.  
Sherlock did as he was told.  
"Again! Again!" Peter yelled taking him by surprise.  
Sherlock learned quickly and mimicked what John had done before. For a second he forgot of the true purpose of this ridiculous act. He immediately stopped when he heard Peter whisper something he didn't quite catch. He turned the child towards him to see what was wrong. He stood paralyzed as the sandwiches made their way back onto his suit.  
"John!" Sherlock yelled, failing to hide his anger.  
"Oh bollocks," John rushed to take the boy away from him. "Go look for clean clothes, I'll clean him up."  
"John," for a moment Sherlock debated telling John what he'd deduced about Peter. One look down at his suit decided for him.  
"What?" John asked from the sink.  
"Uh, nothing. Just, don't get tied up" he smirked to himself.  
What the hell did that mean? John turned around but Sherlock was already out the door.

* * *

Sherlock took a while finding something of Mycrofts' that didn't took like a dress on him. He finally settled for a white t-shirt that wouldn't fit Mycroft even if he stopped eating all the cake in the world. He made his way back down to the kitchen. A low, velvety rumble escaped Sherlock's throat when he saw John. The army doctor was tied up to wall in an intricate spider web. Peter had stationed himself in front of John, clearly admiring his artwork. Sherlock glided over and took a seat next to Peter on the floor.  
"Sherlock get me down!" John struggled to free himself from the organic contraption.  
"Stop moving John, you'll ruin his first masterpiece," Sherlock tried not to laugh.  
"What the bloody hell is going on?" John kicked with no success.  
"Nothing," Sherlock said calmly. "Just that you agreed we'd watch over a super child who's recently discovered he can do more than climb walls."  
"How… I don't even care just get me down!" John cried frustrated.  
"You know, you wouldn't be up there if you'd taken my advice," Sherlock said while he helped John get untangled.  
"What?" John said being forced to let Sherlock manhandle him from the web.  
"Hang on," he realized. "Don't get tied up? You knew!" John was furious.  
"Of course I did," Sherlock smiled.  
John's anger faded. A genuine smile from Sherlock was something rare and extraordinary. He enjoyed seeing happy; he indulged in the few moments when Sherlock acted human. It was a pleasant contrast from the serious, painfully concentrated man he lived with.  
"Alright, we'll just, forget this one. I suppose," John said with a faint smile.  
"Sowwy I threw up on you," both of them were taken aback. They'd almost forgotten that Peter was still there.  
Sherlock didn't know what to say, he simply nodded.  
"You threw up on nice the man, champ?" A cocky voice called from the door.  
"Daddy!" Peter ran to the mans arms.  
The bloque seemed normal at first glance: broad shoulders, devilish presence, handsome smile. He would have been typical were it not for the soft glow that emanated from his chest underneath the black cotton t-shirt.  
"How much for taking care of the troublemaker?" He asked.  
Sherlock and John exchanged a quick glance.  
"Nothing," they said simultaneously.  
"No really, money's not an issue," he said carefree.  
"Honestly it was our pleasure," John reassured.  
"Clearly he's discovered more of his potential," Tony said pointing to the web.  
"Yeah," John laughed nervously trying to forget the experience. "Quite an aim he's got."  
"Sure you boys don't want anything?" Tony insisted.  
"No, pardon me. I must have a word with my brother," Sherlock excused himself.  
Mycroft led his guests politely to the living room for drinks while they waited for their cars.  
"We can discuss the matter later, Sherlock," Mycroft hushed. "You and John are welcomed to wait and have drinks with us."  
Sherlock forced a smile and sat on one of the many couches. When John came in, Sherlock had taken his usual pose: legs crossed hands under chin. John was more concerned with the attractive redhead who stood by the bar with Steve and a man he had not seen before. He made his way to a window to get a better view. Tony followed him with two drinks in hand.  
"She's unofficially taken by the bird man," he said handing John a glass. "You're welcome to borrow mine, he snores." Tony smiled.  
For the first time in his life, John wasn't sure how to answer. He blamed his nervousness on the amount of American in the room.  
"Although why would you need mine when you've got that hunk." Tony said. John was confused. He sneaked a peak to the direction Tony was looking.  
Sherlock sat peacefully on the couch. He hadn't moved an inch since John had walked in. Peter climbed next to the sociopath and curled up like a kitten. John almost choked on his drink when Sherlock tenderly rubbed the child's back as he tried to fall asleep.  
"What?" He asked more to himself.  
"I wasn't used to children either," Tony said ignoring John's confusion. "He'll be fine once you have one of your own."  
"What? Oh, oh! Nooooo, no. No," John denied. "No, we're not… I'm not gay." he clarified awkwardly.  
"Neither was Steve," Tony winked, taking the last swig of his whiskey.


End file.
